Seeing Things
by Kamouraskan
Summary: The result of a challenge to write Sins of the Past as a modern horror story, or perhaps as viewed by a schizophrenic Xena. You decide.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers:** A submission for the Academy of Bards Halloween Challenge. Thanks to the Bardic Circle and especially, Extra, Ann, and Claudia. I have no connection with Xena:Warrior Princess.

**Seeing Things **

**by ****Kamouraskan**

To be fair, I really have only myself to blame that I'm still alive.

Everything started off well. Father Rod's church door was a massive wooden deal, but it was only locked, so when I kicked the sucker in, the deadbolt was still useable. That meant I could still bar the door behind me once I got inside. All of the lights were off, and I left them that way. I like darkness; I've got great night vision, and it's what I work best in. What might have seemed like an oppressively gloomy and ancient building to normal people was sort of comforting to me. I managed to use my hands to feel my way along the pews and stay safely clear of all the altars until I could bolt the side doors as well.

And I don't want to exaggerate the risk. It wasn't like I had to worry about bursting into flames if I got too near a cross. After all, I'd been there twice before with Father Rod, before he was turned into chop suey. But I admit that being inside a church can be a little irritating, sort of like a light spray of hail on my hands and face whenever I got close to anything blessed. But for once that was good, because it meant that this place was properly sanctified and would keep the others out while I did what I had to do.

But now I had to figure out how to do it. What I was there for.

You see, I had to figure out how to chop off my own head with my sword. And the church was the one safe place where I knew nothing could get at me before I died.

Usually, I plot things out to the final detail. That wouldn't work on this little project. My mind isn't always a fine and private place at the best of times, and if my plans had leaked out of my skull, I'd have ended up looking like Father Rod, only less peaceful. And I was damned if I was going to let them take a part of me before I went.

Well, obviously I was damned anyway. It's just an expression.

I was even a little sorry I was probably going to mess up Father Rod's nice little 19th Century church with buckets of gore. Plus, tomorrow's tabloids would probably be filled with the suicide of one of the last people he'd counselled. But he wasn't like he was completely innocent. He'd started the whole thing in the first place by trying to 'reach' me. I mean, if my family thought I was nuts, he was really crazy to think that finding a conscience in one of my kind could lead to any other conclusion.

Now as sharp as my blade was, I still needed some momentum to make a thorough, clean cut. I know from experience how sturdy the throat and back of the spine are, exactly how tough they are to sever. I paced around the musty place for a bit, toying with a few ideas, feeling like the weight of the ceiling way up above me was on my shoulders. I wondered if God might pass by and approve.

Finally I figured that instead of swinging the blade at my throat, I should swing myself onto the blade. At the base of the church bell tower, there was an alcove with a bench at its base, and the hollow was just a bit less wide than the length of my sword. I was able to wedge my sword nice and firm into the gap between the blocks above the bench, right where the pull rope for the church bell dangled. The corridor was a good twenty feet across, which was more than enough momentum if I swung on the rope from the opposite side and struck the blade with my neck just right.

I would like to note, that all this engineering was done with my usual clear-eyed approach to solving any problem.

Figure you have a nearly six foot long object, that being me, and it must be struck at a perfect ninety-degree angle about a foot below the top, remembering to allow for pendulum drop. You take your indelible ink pen to mark the rope for position of target and grip. Make a few test runs, keep the hands up high, make sure dark straggly hair is in a ponytail in the back so's not to deaden impact… and it looked like we had a winner.

And that's why I was crouched high up in the miniature Gothic upper window of the church tower when they came along. I was all ready to jump.

Now, I can usually tell when Scrypes are nearby; there's a sort of whispering, rustling sound in my mind, like a voice trying to tell me something. I didn't need this message though. I was all set in mind and body to jump, and for some reason I couldn't ignore the whispers and stupidly looked outside through the leaded panes.

The only illumination I had was a streetlight on the far side of the church graveyard, which presumably was why these guys had picked such a desolate spot. At first, from my perspective, it was hard to see details. But even a norm would have felt the evil right off.

And it wasn't just the nearby strewn-about gravestones or the full moon above that framed the scene. It was the sour taste of malevolent anticipation that flew alongside and above the group. There were maybe a dozen human shapes in the gang herding three rightly scared young girls along the uneven path that ran alongside the church. They were all dressed casually for a warm summer's night, but I could see when they stopped under the tree outside my window, that a few of them had more than just clothes on their backs. Three of the gang were carrying, as I call it, and there were at least a dozen more free Scrypes flapping about in the air above them, waiting. Though my vision is a little different from anyone else's, even I can only see Scrypes as sort of lined shadows. But the three leading the group were obviously pretty well embedded; they must have been carrying their dragons for a few years now. The wings of the Scrypes were comfortably wrapped around their scalp and foreheads, and by the way their bodies were so close, I knew that the talons were buried deep in their backs right into the spine. It had probably been years since they could have told the difference between their own thoughts and the whispers of the Scrypes.

The kids following the leaders looked almost as nervous as the girls, and they were also right to feel like that. They probably thought whatever was planned was just some rite of initiation, and it was. But it was for the Scrypes, unseen by their eyes and flapping about their heads, who were waiting to take them. Scrypes need that participation in evil, done by a free will, to take a host. And a Scrype without a host is a starving Scrype.

So why should I get involved? You might think that it was Father Rod's talks with me. About how 'I'd known evil, so I could fight evil.' But that's a crock. Maybe I'd considered it for a bit, but only because he was the first person over twenty who'd ever listened to me and not tried to get me back on my meds. Well, first other than Grouch, but that's another story.

No, what moved me, what stopped me from getting on with my own pressing business, was the, what can you call it, other than innocence? radiating from the girls, and one in particular. See, Scrypes can smell, taste that kind of innocence. They use most humans like they were cigarette filters, drawing the worst from them, through them and then usually tossing them away. But to break or corrupt innocence; that's what they live for.

It's also how they breed.

The girls might have feared pain or death and the gangbangers, but while they were used and hurt, there would be psychic eggs laid inside of them, and I couldn't let that happen. I mean, what was the point of making sure they couldn't get me, if right outside a dozen more of my kind were being created?

Despite that, I'd still successfully fought the urge to crash through the glass, when she stepped forward. The moonlight reflected off her light coloured hair and there was a bit of the moonlight shining about her; nice and clean, with a purity that you don't see often, sort of radiating from her. But even though I couldn't hear through the glass what she was saying, I saw the intent in her gestures. She was offering to trade herself in exchange for the others. From my seat, she didn't look like she was stupid enough to think that she had anything to bargain with. Maybe she thought they would respect her for the offer. But self-sacrifice would just have the Scrypes salivating even more. True nobility really is that rare a treat for them.

My parents dropped big bucks to pay shrinks to tell me that Scrypes weren't real, but at times like this I can't believe that others can't see them as well. Sure, the girls' attention was focused on the smirking, jeering goons that were slowly closing the noose around them, but on some level they had to feel the flapping circle of hell above them. Had to be aware of the dripping ooze that the Scrypes excreted when they were getting ready to merge with humans.

None of them heard me slip down, unbolt and open the door of the church. It was easily covered by the taunts and the anticipation every player was feeding into the air. But I carry a few of my own shadows and my own anticipation was also building. So when I got close enough, all the heads turned in my direction. Without me having to say anything, I had their full attention. I'm not that bad looking, and I was carrying a sword.

"Hello, boys," I drawled, letting them see my teeth. "Busy night?"

The one carrying the biggest Scrype on his back returned my grin on his piggy face and drawled, "Looks like it's getting busier all the time."

"I don't think it's the kind of busy you want." I drew my sword and held it up at an angle as if I was measuring its length, while what I was actually doing was catching a bit of the ooze that was drizzling from the swarm above us. Whatever the stuff is, it seems to let the Scrypes slip partly into this dimension or plane or whatever it is that separates us, and I needed some on the sword in order to touch them.

The kids that were still not carrying drew back at the sight of my steel. That allowed me to move through the breach they made and into the circle in front of the girls. I wasn't worried about any of them pulling a gun; their kind doesn't like guns. Too fast. They prefer a dull blade or a baseball bat in a fight.

Pigface looked at the sword, then at me. "There's ten of us. You must be nuts."

"I've been told that a few times," I admitted cheerfully. I pointed the blade at him. "Maybe we could start with a little one on one?"  
There was a move from one of the Scrype carriers beside me, but my jacket dagger was already in his chest before his knife even left its sheath. It's not easy to use your left hand to get a blade exactly between and through the ribs and into the heart, but I used to practice a lot. It's neater than you'd think, because when you pull the blade out, if you're fast enough on the withdraw and it's thin enough, there's hardly any blood as the ribs close down on the wound. And the victim's dead before he hits the ground. It's one of my little tricks and impressive enough that it had at least five of the kids already about to turn and run.

The Scrype on the dead kid's back began to try to extract itself, but it was still tripping on the death of its host to move too fast. I tried to make a thrust look like a casual swing of the sword and filleted it before it could extract itself and fly away. Though I enjoyed doing it, the death of one of their kind set the Scrypes above us off. They began swooping down in groups of two and three, until they noticed that my sword thrusts had cut their numbers in half. In shock that a human blade could affect them at all, the survivors withdrew to roost in the tree above and let their human hosts deal with me.

While I was busy at what must have looked like swinging wildly at the air, I'd completely forgotten about the victims I was supposedly rescuing. Fortunately, the blonde who had offered herself was more on the ball. She grabbed a largish branch from the ground and was swinging it at anybody who came close. She snatched another one up and tossed it to one of the other girls. With a final, frightened glance at me, and then to the body on the ground, half the crew beat it.

With a sneer and as much dignity as he could muster, Piggy backed off too, shrugged and swaggered away with his friend, leaving their boy dead at my feet. There were no sirens that I could hear, so I waited until I was sure they had left the churchyard.

While I waited, the blonde said something to her friends and then confidently approached me. She was out of breath, but what was really distracting was that as she walked forward, she kept looking over or actually at, my shoulder. I knew there was nothing there, but something about it was really pissing me off. She gave me a huge grin and in a clear and cheerful voice said, "Peace be with you."

Well, how do you reply to that? And what was even more exasperating was that she seemed to be expecting some sort of response.

Well, when I clearly didn't know what the other half of the code phrase was, she looked a bit perplexed and asked, "You don't know, do you?"

Irritated, I shook my head. "There's lots I don't know. What in particular is it now?"

She continued to grin and answered, "That you were sent here by God, and are one of his Chosen."

Right. I had to laugh out loud. "How can you tell? It must be the way I simply _glow_ with goodness?"

She took my sarcasm seriously it seemed, and pointed to my right. She spoke with urgent fervour. "No. I can see you don't believe, but right there, on your shoulder, is one of God's angels. An angel on your shoulder, singing God's love and His plan for you."

Well, she got me for a minute. I actually looked. Of course there was nothing. At least nothing I could see. "An angel?" I asked. "You can see angels?"

"I see them all the time. They're everywhere. There are even some in the tree." She pointed at the branches above joyously, but all I saw were the remaining beady eyed little bastards still grinning down at us. I pulled her away and said, "You think those are angels? Those miniature pterodactyls with scum dripping from them? That's your idea of an angel?"

She shook her head with what I suppose you'd call 'infinite patience', and if Grouch hadn't shown up when he did, I might have bopped her one on principle.

But he did show. He strolled up casually, like he was on his way to some important speech and wanted to meet some local kids before being elected to mayor or something. He was always cool, even in his other forms. We went way back, but how far, how many lives, I wasn't sure. He was physically older than me, and he had been the first kid I knew with a Scrype. It was now so embedded that there was just a small rise along his backbone to show that it even existed. He was also always heavily built enough that even when we were kids, no one ever made fun of his upmarket way of speaking. He stopped just far away enough for his back to be outlined in silhouette before he spoke. "Paula, my love. Have you been assaulting a few of my poor lads?"

Inside, I was trying to stop my heart from pounding out of my chest. Outside, I coolly saluted him ironically with my sword. "They were yours?" I asked.

He spread his hands in a casual gesture. "Everything around here is mine."

"Not quite everything," I countered, holding my blade at the ready.

He absorbed that for a moment before asking, "Is that going to be a problem?"

"That's your decision."

He chuckled, and the sound echoed for a moment. I didn't join in. "No, I don't think so." He walked a bit closer, but still only the streetlamp behind him defined his shape. "This is a bit of luck, you know. I'm putting a team together near by the old homestead. I was thinking that your house would make a great little stronghold. Maybe we could talk there, what do you say to that?"

I tried to match his indifference, but even I could hear the tension in my voice when I replied, "Leave my family alone, Grouch."

"As I said, that isn't my decision. You know I want you. One way or another. And… I'll even give you a few days to figure it out. Today is Thursday, shouldn't take you long to get to Fairfield, right? Let's say your Mom's on Saturday evening. Seven o'clock." Like he was making an appointment.

Like usual when he was involved, I was freezing up. I couldn't think of anything to do or say in reply, so he just threw me a mocking smile before turning away and disappearing into the night. There was noxious flutter of wings from the trees as his flock followed him.

I realized I'd been holding my breath for a long time, and let it out. My mind was racing a mile a minute trying to work out my options, when the last thing I needed tugged at my shoulder. It was the blonde, of course. Eyes filled with glory hallelujah and God only knows what else. "Fairfield? That's in SoCal, isn't it? How do you usually go that way? Train, fly…"

"Don't even think about it," I said as coldly as I could. Which is usually enough to freeze the mouth off most. Not this one.

"Take me with you," she insisted.

I just snorted and pushed her away. "Right."

She grabbed hold of my arm again and continued to wheedle. "No, I'm serious. I'm supposed to go with you. I know these things."

I pried off the arm and held it, squeezing just below the torture threshold. We locked our eyes until hers began to squeeze shut in pain. "You're serious?" I asked. "That's nice. 'Cause you don't want to see _me_ get serious. And you sure as Hell don't want to see me mad." And I dropped the arm, turned and left her. Left her and my deathtrap behind.

I was stupid enough to think that I'd never have to worry about either of those ever again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers:** In Part One

**Seeing Things****  
****Part 2**

**by ****Kamouraskan**

By ten the next morning, I was on a train heading back to my childhood home. Alone. I had lots of time to stare at my reflection in the window and think about that particular childhood. Thinking of all the times I'd gazed at that reflection and wondered if it was really there. Thinking of all the uncertainties I'd had until I'd eventually remembered who I was.

What I was.

Also, thinking with no small amount of regret, that I'd had the choice of seeing my Mother or killing myself. For some stupid reason I'd decided to see my mother. As for Dad, he was long dead. Despite what many thought, I hadn't killed him, not exactly. I'd wanted him to live, but he hadn't been as strong as Mother. Or as strong as me.

I know I resented paying for the cab from the train station. Not that I figured anyone would be waiting for me, even if I had called ahead. I mean, I knew what was waiting wasn't going to be pleasant, and yet it kept costing me more money.

Familiar landmarks of the town slipped by in a blur as the sun set: places I'd torched, homes where my victims had once and possibly now lived. My mood and the skies were pretty dark by the time I rang the bell of my mother's house. A perfectly symmetrical Georgian-style mansion I'd spent so much time trying to unbalance.

A maid I didn't know answered the door and then interrogated me on the doorstep. I kept my temper, and eventually she decided to let me in. She haughtily told me to wait in the front sitting room. That I didn't know the staff wasn't surprising. Few of them had lasted long when I'd lived there. And there were a lot of staff; it was that big a place. I'd chosen my birth parents well.

After a few minutes of me checking out the magazine stacks, Mom emerged, looking every inch the pillar of society that she was. Country casual, still slim and tall like me except with silver hair. It was pretty clear from her tight expression that there weren't any fatted calves on tonight's menu. Spending your childhood bringing pain and misery into everyone's life can have that effect on a welcome.

"What do you want?" were the first words to me.

I tried to be casual. "No asking if I'm taking my medications?"

She shrugged coldly. "I learned, to my regret, that the Lithium dampened your hallucinations. It didn't change who you were."

I figured I only had a minute, so I got to the point. "Mother." I think she might have shuddered at the name, but I had to continue. "You remember Grouch? We met up last night. He's headed this way. He's planning something, and he's…"

"He what? Needs the house for another 'party'?"

I could only nod. From outside there was the sound of a car pulling up and then the doorbell rang. I knew what that meant, and I didn't care, for once. Mother stared at me and shook her head. "I told you what I would do if you ever came here again."

I probably could have made a run for it, but it all seemed pretty pointless. We waited in silence as the door was answered, and then two cops filed into the room. I just put my hands out. I think Mother was surprised at that, because she didn't say a word right away. And that's all it would have taken. I'd chosen well; their money had kept me from having any sort of criminal record. But Dear Old Mom could come up with enough charges against me to put me in the worst cell in the county. And after that small hesitation, it was clear she'd decided to do exactly that.

But I'd forgotten all about my little blonde Jesus Freak. To my complete surprise, she bounced into the room from where I had no idea, looking like a secretary at an upscale firm. It took me a moment to recognize her without the messianic gleam, much less the change in clothing. I'd later find out she'd asked around to find out who I was and the internet had taken care of the rest. She handed my mother and one of the cops a professional looking business card, saying, "I'm Paula's counsellor. I'm sorry if I'm late. What seems to be the problem?"

"The problem?" my mother managed.

The blonde was all professional composure. "Yes. My client is here under my advice as part of her twelve-step program. Confronting those she has wronged and attempting restitution. I'm sure you must be aware of the process?"

The cops looked to Mom, who was staring at the card in her hands for what seemed like hours before she looked up at me. There was something in her eyes that I thought I'd killed years before, and I suppose it was hope. She swallowed, turned to the cops and said, "I apologise, Officers. I've made a terrible mistake. I'm sorry you had to come all this way. My daughter…" and there was a catch in her throat as she said those unfamiliar words, "…is welcome here. Thank you for coming." There was some unease and suspicion as they left the room and their attempt to take Mom aside was rebuffed. While this was going on, the blonde was clasping her hands with a bland smile. I pulled her over to a window seat and glared at her. "You're not really…?"

She blinked. "A therapist? Of course not. I have piles of those left over from one of my shrinks."

Finally she'd said something that I could believe.

Somehow she continued her con throughout a very strange and constrained late tea, begging off any further discussion on the basis of exhaustion, then accepting an invitation to stay the night, when to my complete amazement, it was offered. I kept my mouth shut waiting for some more time alone with the chameleon to figure out how to play this.

Mom couldn't have been entirely sold on my latest conversion, because she put both of us up in the only room in the house that had nothing worthwhile stealing. She sent us off with a couple of nightgowns, toothbrushes and to my real shock, leaned up to give an uncertain kiss on my forehead. We separately stripped, washed and changed in the john, and climbed into the twin singles of the smallest guest room.

I would have expected the blonde, (whose name I had finally found out was Gloria, appropriately enough,) to want to rack out after what she said was a long hitchhike, but no; she wanted to talk.

At first I admit I was thinking, great. Laying about in PJ's, whispering across the beds. Like norms. Maybe this is what it would have been like to have a sister. Maybe things would have turned out differently if I'd had…etc, etc. But a cold voice inside me reminded me nothing could ever be changed. What I was, was what I was. A sister would have been someone else to torment, nothing more.

Gloria had her own kind of torment in mind. Recklessly, she pushed and pressed me for more info with the excuse that as my 'counsellor' my Mother would expect her to know about my 'problem' in the morning. So, having blurted it out once before to Father Rod, it was easier this time. I basically gave her Scrype 101. She took it pretty well, but from someone that claimed to see angels, I think I expected more. She asked all the usual questions, like what did they look like, why did I think I didn't see them when I took the meds, and then she got to a real sore point.

"What about the big guy from the graveyard? How does he fit in?"

I lay back and thought about it. I figured I'd get away with, "Grouch? He was my first… Scrype."

But she was too fast for me. "He was your first in other ways, too, wasn't he?"

I didn't say anything.

"How old were you?"

"Pretty young. Young enough so's I don't really remember."

She cleared her throat nervously; I don't know why. "That's kind of weird, isn't it? That you don't remember, don't you think?"

Now she was pissing me off again. "You're sounding like a shrink."

"Sorry." And she did sound like she was. But not enough to shut her up, unfortunately. "It's just that, you'd think…"

I cut her off. "Leave it." I was getting itchy, my head felt like there was something inside it, trying to clumsily dress itself, and I remembered feeling that way just before Father Rod had been killed.

"Father Rod?" she asked.

I must have spoken that out loud. Crap. But maybe it would warn her off. "Father Rod was asking me questions like this. About when I was little, and about Grouch. I was getting this headache. And, this swarm of the things came through the window, hundreds of them, more than I could remember seeing at once. It was like they sucked up all the air and the place was dripping with their ooze. Stupid buggers actually went for me, but it was like hitting a bathroom door. You know, 'sorry, already occupied'."

I tried a grin but she was staring, head resting on one hand, completely caught up. I continued. "I must have passed out, and when I came to, he was there, all torn up. Never seen them kill anyone before, but he must have been special. You know, holy. Good. And they… devoured him."

Again there was that look. Weirdly, it wasn't scared, and it was supposed to be. Which made me nervous. "What?" I demanded.

"So whatcha do then?"

"Took off. Not crazy enough to think the cops would buy a story like that. I only went back last night to… tidy up."

There was a rustle of cotton as she shifted herself enough to sit up on the bed. I didn't like the idea that she was getting even more focused, but I counted and took a few deep breaths, and things seem to calm down inside.

"Ummm… You said you didn't think Scrypes could always see each other, and in your memory Grouch has never admitted he could see them, so…?"

"You want to know how come I can see them?"

"Uh huh."

That was the big secret, the one I had never told anyone else. The one that had taken me years to admit, in this very house.

"Because I am one of them. I'm a Scrype."

It slipped out of my lips to her ears for no reason I can figure. I began to think I must really be crazy. I couldn't stop telling her these things. 'What the hell was she doing to me?' I was screaming in my head. But outside, I kept blathering on.

"See, some very strong Scrypes, like Grouch, they go from host to host, they can live for centuries if they're careful. Or smart. But the really smart ones… like me, know a better way. I searched and searched. Checked out… pregnant women. And found one. A girl, still in the womb. A rich little girl. With loving parents, who would have all the advantages."

"And?" she whispered.

"And?" I tried to sound nonchalant, but it caught somewhere in my throat. "And I smothered her. Smothered her soul inside her mother's womb. And I took her place."

She was shaking her head, and I think she there were tears in her eyes. "You made that up. You don't know that. You can't know that."

I stared her down. "Yes, I do."

She swallowed again before speaking. "You aren't stupid. You know what all this sounds like…"

Now I was angry. "I am not a fucking schizophrenic!!!" I expected her to cower at the sound of my voice, but, like the freak she obvious was, she widened those clean green eyes till she looked like a kitten on velvet. "You're in no position to talk." I lashed out. "Angels talking to me on my shoulder? Unless you figure you're sane and everybody else is crazy??"

"No." She simply sighed and lay quietly back again. "I figure everyone else AND me are crazy." Before I could finish rolling my eyes, she had bounced back up again. "So maybe you're right. That would explain why the angel doesn't sit on your shoulder like most. She seems scared to touch you."

"Ha!"

"But," and that saintly smile beamed across the room, "that doesn't mean she's not there, and there for you."

There wasn't much I could say to that. So I threw a pillow at her. It was too much bother to get my knife out. That seemed to satisfy her somehow, and despite whatever misgivings she had developed, she rolled over to sleep.

As you might guess, I didn't fall asleep so easily. But I must have eventually, because I remember this dream. There was a sound. A sound like crying. And I saw it, on my shoulder, this sort of glow, and the feel of tears sliding down my arm. But the tears began to burn, really burn, and a rip appeared in my arm and then across my chest, and this clawed bloody bat wing thing reached out and crushed the tiny golden glow.

I woke up gasping and saw she was having a nightmare as well. I fell out of the bed reaching for her and that must have woke her up. She opened blurry eyes to look at me with a frightened stare. And I realized that was the first time I'd seen her scared of me, even if it was only for a moment.

In a second, I was holding her hand for some nutsy reason and asking her what was wrong. Seems she'd had a dream about angels too. But hers was a little different. "It was nothing," she whispered, in a sorry attempt at being offhand. "I just saw the angel, the one on your shoulder. It touched you, and it cried. It cried and shriveled and… it died."

We were quiet for a while then, until I heard her breathing slow and realized somehow, she'd gone back to sleep.

I wasn't going back to sleep. Not that night. I needed the time to think. Our dreams seemed to fit together. Things generally began to fit together. Once I knew what I was going to do, I stared long and hard over at her sleeping form. Wondering if I had the right to use her.

That was an entirely new experience.

I thought again about how a sister wouldn't have changed anything. I was what I was. But, I wondered, did that mean I couldn't make things better for at least one person? I could save my Mother, couldn't I? She deserved at least that much and if I were wrong, hey, Gloria would probably like to be a martyr. I lay staring at the ceiling for a few more hours until it was light again.

I had everything ready by that evening. The staff had all gone, and the curtains were closed so we couldn't see the crowd outside. Throughout the end of the afternoon, 'visitors' had begun arriving. The thrum of motorcycles and fast cars revving in the drive leading to the house seemed to build until I could no longer hear the rustling in the trees as even more Scrypes flew in to wait their turn.

At precisely seven, the doorbell finally rang. When I opened the door, he was again backlit, but this time it came from the beams of all the headlights of the vehicles in the yard. Charismatic is a word that devalued the presence Grouch carried with him, but he still couldn't resist having props. And even though I recognized the bad theatre of his entrance, he still could make me doubt myself.

Trying not to let it show, I gestured at him to come in. He didn't move. "It's just you and me. Or are you afraid to come in alone?" I taunted him. He shrugged, and made a motion, and all the bike and car lights went out. The sky was dark, with no stars to be seen. I could also hear the thrash of thousands of wings in the trees and my mouth went dry. I was angry at the fear but I found it was already hard to breathe, just knowing how many were waiting, how many would soon be coming into the house. Groucho dropped his expensive Italian coat onto the floor, and sauntered in alone.

"Where are the servants? Where's your lovely Mother?" he asked.

"Don't sweat it. I have something you might be more interested in."

I led him into the main living room where Gloria was tied to the chair, still in the borrowed dressing gown. Her eyes were bulging over the gag.

Grouch grinned and looked at me with admiration and lust. "I know you usually like them even younger," I suggested. "But she makes up for it in other ways, I think."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers:** In Part One

**Seeing Things****  
****Part 3**

**by ****Kamouraskan**

Grouch drew closer to her and then closed his eyes. Sniffed her scent while she cringed. As if she was a fine wine.

I interrupted his reverie. "So that's the trade. You take her, and my mother is left alone. Fair enough?"

He asked, reasonably, "Why shouldn't I take both?"

He was so damned cool that I nearly made my move then, but he was still too far away, and I wasn't about to underestimate his muscle and skill. But holding myself in, when the tension of the waiting, the sounds I could hear, the anger and fear that was building up, was too much.

I don't know what I would have done next because at that moment the centre bay window blew open, and they came in. Thousands of Scrypes. Shrieking, calling, demanding blood. I say thousands, but I have no idea. But the light, the air, seemed to be sucked out of the room and my lungs. I had to fight to stay conscious.

As if nothing was happening, Groucho asked again, "Why shouldn't I take both?"

I yelled over the shrieks, "Because otherwise you'll have to deal with me."

"You?" He laughed and pointed at me as I began to crumple. "Look at you. You're useless!"

Above our heads, some of the Scrypes were hovering and salivating over Gloria. Driving themselves into a frenzy, nipping at each other, fighting over who would have the first feeding. I put my hands to my ears to cut out the sound but Grouch moved behind me, grabbed my arms and spun me to the ground. He was laughing, calling me a crazy bitch, who should have taken her pills before facing him. I scrambled to my feet, but it was hard to think. There were just so many of them. I kept screaming in my mind HOLD ON HOLD ON!!! But the rustling noise kept growing and the slime dripping from the Scrypes began to cover the floor. More of their bodies plummeted to the ground as they fought amongst each other for the prize tied to the chair. I was covering my ears, my eyes closed, defenceless, when Grouch smashed me in the back of the neck and I went down again. Somehow I rolled away and struggled to stand, but slipped. I could see my jeans glistening and coated in slime from the floor.

But then the largest Scrype broke loose from the mob and went directly for Gloria. I was frozen; I watched in sick fascination as it lowered itself to her head almost lovingly. Even more slime began to ooze from its underside and it moved to touch her with delicate care. Groucho was beside Gloria as well and spoke to her. I heard him, even through the noise; "Don't look to her for help. Paula's out of it. Just like she was when I took out the Priest. He shouldn't have tried to take her from me." I was trying to understand just what that meant when the Scrype closed its slimy wings around her. I realized that I might have made a stupid, stupid mistake.

I began to crawl on my back towards her, edging closer on my elbows, but then the Scrype screamed. It simply touched her and thank all that's right and good, it wailed and shuddered. It screamed and the sound cut through the fog in my brain. The Scrype on Gloria seemed to partially dissolve into a powder, but even as its death rattle reverberated throughout the room, the others hardly noticed. Their feeding frenzy seemed incapable of ending, even as scraps of one of their own fell onto the floorboards beneath them. They continued to fight for the chance at her. Another charged free and attacked. It acted as though it had been dropped into acid. And then another, and another. And each died in shrieking agony as soon as they touched her. I waited, still lying on the floor, Groucho towering above me, ignoring me, reaching for her. And I took my steel-toed work boot and gave him the biggest kick in the balls any man has ever had. He froze, his eyes rolled and like a tree, he fell. And I heard him drop. Because the room was quiet.

Empty.

They were gone.

Gloria worked her arm loose from the slipknots we'd used, and pulled out the gag. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Still lying on the floor, I spat out, "no, I'm not."

She was hurrying to untie herself. "Are you hurt?"

Disgusted, I muttered, "I kicked him in the balls!"

She was now working to get her legs undone, but she raised her head to grin at me. "I know. And hard, too."

"You don't get it. I must know at least fifty ways to k… I know how to look after myself, right? But I was lying on the floor like a five year old and all I could do was kick him in the balls!"

"Miss Perfection! It worked, didn't it?" In agreement, Groucho rolled over and groaned like a wounded cow.

"Yeah," I agreed. "And once he was down, they disappeared."

"Hmmmmm…" she said. I ignored it.

"Anyway," she went on, dropping the last of the ropes to the floor, "I may not know fifty ways to kuh-, but I also can take care of myself. And I had to just sit here and be the bait. But do you see me complaining?"

I gave her a hand up. "Actually, yes I do."

"Well, I'm very glad I didn't need this." She pulled out the hidden pistol with distaste and thrust it towards me. I took it, but laid it on the coffee table away from Grouch, but where we could still get to it. It was Mom's after all.

She looked at the weapon sourly, and kept that expression when she looked at me. "I suppose this confirms everything for you."

"You mean because it worked? It seemed pretty obvious to me last night. If I could see Scrypes…"

"And I could see angels," she continued for me.

"And angels couldn't sit on my shoulder…"

"Then Scrypes wouldn't sit on mine. So they flew away?" she asked.

I looked about at the carnage lying about her chair and then at her still pristine dressing gown. "Ummm… not really… flew…"

"You won't be insulted if I prefer not to believe that I'm a spirit that smothered a child in the womb as well?"

I shrugged. "Angels wouldn't do that. They'd find one that was going to be stillborn instead."

She grinned that over-enthusiastic grin, but I have to admit it was almost endearing now. "Thank you. I hate to challenge your world view, or sound like a shrink, but…"

What was coming now? I braced myself. "But?"

She pulled me down to the sofa and asked earnestly, "Isn't it easier to believe that just maybe, when you faced your fears, faced the man who probably raped you when you were a child, that that's why all the Scrypes disappeared?"

I looked all around the room. Stared at that bulge in Grouch's back. "I wouldn't say they disappeared. There's about, well, several dozen splattered all over the floor."

"Then we better get the maid in here and wipe it up," my mother said calmly as she entered with two uniformed officers.

I would have said something smart-assed, but with the cops in the room and blue lights strobing and flashing across the bay windows that fronted the living room, I thought it could keep.

"The police are breaking up that old gang of yours, Grouch." I told him. He didn't even have the strength to glare as the cops hauled him to his feet. One of the cops said to my mom, "Trespassing will be enough to hold them for now. Then once we get their fingerprints and records, I'm sure we'll find we can charge them with more interesting things. We'll call you from the station and tell you when we need you." And then they handcuffed my biggest nightmare and simply took him away.

My mother was looking sadly after him. "He always seemed like such a nice boy. We all felt so sorry for him when he was left an orphan after the house fire." Then she looked at me and said dryly, "I appreciated that at least you didn't burn our house down."

I gave her my blandest look. "Why would I do that? I've always liked this house."

She laughed and opened her arms. "Come here."

Not that I wanted to say no, but I looked at my clothes and grimaced. "I'd hug you, I really would. But I'm all covered with…"

She nodded. "Scrype juice. I know. Go and wash up, I'll have the maid bring you something fresh to wear."

"No skirts," I teased.

She looked affronted. "Of course not. Jeans will do? I kept a few things of yours in case…"

I touched her hand just fingertips, and we smiled real, genuine smiles at each other, for the first time in, God only knows.

As I left for the john, I heard her asking Gloria, "you're not really her therapist, are you?"

Gloria coughed self-consciously. "Never really said that. I said counsellor."

"Then thank you, for your counsel."

"Well, if I ever get my PhD in abnormal psychology, I have a great subject for my doctorate."

By the time I came back, they seemed to be getting on fine but there were still bodies and slime all over the floor. I looked at Mom and she knew what I was thinking. "I thought I'd wait until you left to have the maids in. After all, I spent a lot of money to be told not to reinforce your delusions."

I asked reasonably, "Then why do it at all?"

"You might be right. Just in case. I like clean floors."

For some reason, that seemed to deserve a hug, and this time I took it; hell, wallowed in it.

So we stayed the night, even had a big breakfast together that was probably like normal people have, if I had a clue what that was or meant. I was offered a few bucks by Mom, which I turned down, only to find them stuffed in my duffel while waiting at the train station. It was a beautiful sunny day; most people would be thinking of it as perfect weather for a fresh start. But I was watching the commuters as they marched purposely passed me. Lawyers, accountants, nurses; many with dark shades clasped to their backs.

Whispering to them.

As you might have figured, I hadn't ditched the blonde. She was watching my eyes, and she somehow knew exactly what I was thinking.

"There's angels there as well," she said. "And in the end, God gave us free will. We don't have to listen at all."

"Or I could just take a pill, and it wouldn't matter anymore."

She pushed her arm through mine and I waited, knowing there'd be some declaration about truth, insanity and excitement of living.

Instead she said, "Buddy Holly! I love Buddy Holly!"

The urge to bop her came back full force. "Don't you have somewhere to go?"

She looked at me as if she had a right to be exasperated. "You can't think you can do it alone."

I tried to pretend like I didn't know what she was talking about. "What?"

"You're going to fight back. And you need all the angels and me you can get."

I snorted. "I've already had all the you I can take."

She folded her arms firmly across her chest. "What would you prefer? That I keep getting in your way, or we work together? Because that's the choice."

"You don't even know where I'm going!" I argued halfheartedly.

She simply shrugged. "I know there's going to be trouble. And you're going to need a friend."

I hated to admit it, but I liked the sound of that word. "Friends?"

"Friends."

We stared at each other for a long while, like you do when an immovable object meets an unstoppable force. Until I gave a resigned sigh, she grinned, and we went to buy our train tickets.

Just in case I changed my mind, she snatched up both our tickets from my hand and grabbing my arm, led us to the train. And I got on with as much of a philosophical air as I could. 'Cause as I said at the beginning, I really do have only myself to blame.

The End


End file.
